Perspectives (Working Title!)

The year is 2168. My name is Darien Maxwell, I am forty three years old and in one week from now I am to be executed without trial for the deaths of twenty two people, including four top government officials, in an explosion at the Grand Anchor Hotel. If you are reading this, it is to be presumed that the execution went ahead, and I am indeed deceased. No doubt my body will have been stripped naked beforehand and my corpse dumped into the multi-mile long pit with every other ‘traitor’, my compatriots in death, none of whom had the luxury of a trial by jury. Therefore, attempts to find and use my body for martyr based propaganda will almost certainly prove futile. It is with this in mind that my last contribution to mankind in this lifetime is my account of the world in which we live, and it is my hope is that it will open the eyes of the brainwashed masses. It is my hope that hundreds of years from now, history will look kindly upon me. It is my hope that I will not have died in vain.

The story I have to tell starts in 2131. As a boy of six years old attending primary school I became good friends with a boy of the same age, Alexander Webb, a name I am sure that every one of you is familiar with. Myself and Alexander did everything together, we shared the same passions, the same sense of humour, even the same level of academic ability; even from such a young age it was clear to parents and teachers alike that ours was a friendship that was to last. At age eleven, we went to the same secondary school where we were in the same tutor group. Our friendship remained strong. Aged sixteen, we attended the same college, where we were introduced to a whole new range of subjects to choose freely from. Alexander took a keen interest in politics and philosophy, myself history. College, lasting as it did for so many from the ages of sixteen to eighteen, witnessed a slight chilling in our relationship. Over those two years we were discovering different worlds from one another, and as well as that we were entering the latter years of puberty, in effect making them relatively emotionally charged, and when coupled with being in new surroundings with different doorways opening for both of us, this was a strange new world and a deterioration in our relationship was only to be expected.

As college wore on Alexander’s interest in politics went beyond the academic boundaries, and he surrounded himself with like-minded people with whom he could debate for hours and discuss matters not covered by the college curriculum, and it soon became perfectly clear that Alexander had a real talent, some might even say a rare talent for dealing with issues that are thrown up in the political arena. I took an interest in politics, but not to the same extent, although we did converse much about the subject during free periods as my political views certainly appeared to be slightly more left wing than his. This was just one example of the numerous subjects on which our opinions had begun to differ.

However by the end of college, with our exams aced and different universities beckoning, our relationship thawed and in that last summer before we left our hometown where we had shared so many memories for the past twelve years, we once again became close friends. Come September, I went my way, Alexander went his. Given the opportunity to go back, I would have done things differently. We embraced and shook hands for what we did not realise was the final time that day, and indeed had I known what was to happen in the next thirteen years, I would have had no hesitation in shooting him dead. I do not hate Alexander Webb, I loved him dearly as a friend, which makes the tragedy of what he has become ever harder to bare.

I cannot give a comprehensive account of the life of Alexander after the day I said goodbye, for in truth I do not know. However, I can give an account of what happened to our civil liberties and rights once Alexander Webb, with a Bachelor of Arts in Politics and Philosophy and a Master of Arts in Political Science, became leader of our country. And with that, I can give you an account of how my life became dedicated to stopping him. When you read on, I can only hope that you, loyal reader, open your eyes to find that you are living in an Orwellian nightmare, and having assessed my actions will not deem me, Darien Maxwell, as a man who has no right to face execution without a fair and democratic trial.

In the year 2150, at the tender age of twenty five, Alexander Webb became the youngest ever leader of our country. It is no surprise, given the political and economical turmoil of our country at the time, that a young, charismatic leader who seemed to have an answer for every question (no matter how difficult) put to him was to find himself catapulted to the upper echelons of a political party that was struggling to end in-fighting, even though after nearly twenty five years in power the opposition, usually so formidable and strong, was crumbling with only months to go until the next election. In October 2150, Alexander Webb and his now unified party swept into power with an unprecedented landslide victory in the ballot boxes. Alexander Webb was hailed as a hero – he unified a divided party, and he was clearly the man to turn around the ailing fortunes of a once powerful nation. And so Alexander began laying the foundations that would cement his position as leader, to the point that he became dictator. I firmly believe that it would be hard to argue against the opinion, nay fact, that the October 2150 elections were the last free and democratic elections that this country witnessed.